Another Wednesday, another day off to Moscow.
The weather allowed for the drive even in the depths of winter. I was ready to get out of town after the holidays. We have decorations up everywhere. I don't feel any real urgency to take things down. Not out of nostalgia or sentimentality, just don't care.
This is must be what it feels like to not be anxious about external things, just listening more to my own internal rhythms (turns out we finally got the tree down in mid-February, a record of lateness).
I ate at a restaurant called Rico's which is a Pullman classic. I hadn't been there since college, so roughly thirty years. The interior was the same; dark wood, high ceilings, books, a cross between an English pub and college-town restaurant. I was reading our book club selection, Louise Edrich's book, The Round House. I ate a chicken salad and got lost for an hour or so before driving home.
I rarely drive home in the dark, especially in the winter, but that's how it worked out today. The scenes delivered on the highway are distinctly different with the absence of light. There is a feeling of closure, end of the day, people heading home, the sun departing, fading light, flashes of color, the rest of the evening approaching.
I made a fire this evening and just settled in, pondering more options for change and health in the midst of the stark coldness but also the tangible warmth of winter.
It feels like this is a good time to get deep work done. The distractions of spring and summer aren't present. If I'm willing to keep facing my shadows and pain, the time and focus can be there.
It's interesting that during a season where there is less light, you have the opportunity for more personal illumination, rest and healing. Why do we resist this or not even talk about it? No, it's 24x7 frantic activity, same/same.
I'm burrowing in, listening and it feels right.